


Thanatopsis

by whimsicality



Series: we danced with monsters [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Runaways (Comics), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death Magic, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Pack Dynamics, Polyamory Negotiations, Vampires and Necromancers and Werewolves Oh My!, supernatural politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicality/pseuds/whimsicality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony Stark, zombie raiser for hire and part-time police consultant, is hired by the Master of the City to handle a possession case. Meanwhile, someone or something is targeting the preternatural population of New York. Seductions, politics, and dead bodies ensure that nothing will be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Anything you could think of for Marvel or AB verse, with the exception of the rampant consent issues inherent in Anitaland because fuck that, I don’t roll that way. If anyone has any specific trigger warnings I should add, please let me know.

_Chapter One - Tithonus_

Tony sipped at his mug of what looked like plain black coffee but was actually enough espresso to give him a heart attack, and tried to turn his scowl into something Coulson wouldn’t deem an ‘inappropriate expression to display in front of customers.’ The man really should have accepted by now that inappropriate was Tony’s lifeblood, well other than the death magic, which was the only reason Coulson put up with him at all.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?”

The man in the chair across from his desk curled his lips into a lazy smirk. “You heard me, Stark. The Master of the City wants you to exorcise a ghost from someone. You will find out more once you accept the job, and she is prepared to reward you quite handsomely if you succeed.”

“ _Once_ I accept the job? I don’t know if your Master’s heard, but I’m really not so good with orders,” Tony said sharply, hoping it hid the spike of deep curiousity about who needed an exorcism, and how the hell he would even go about getting a ghost out of someone. 

The only ‘ghosts’ he’d seen had been restless spirits in certain cemeteries, and the occasional soul at a funeral or crime scene. The only possessions he’d heard of had been demonic in nature, and he stayed way the hell away from those. The church could keep the demons, he’d take everything else they rejected as evil.

The man laughed, his body relaxed and confident in the stiff office chair Tony had purchased explicitly so that it would be uncomfortable to sit in for very long. “Oh, she knows. This isn’t an order. But she wants your help in this matter, and the Master is _very_ good at getting what she wants.”

Tony’s lips twisted. People had a habit of _not_ getting what they wanted around him. Including himself. 

“Leave your contact information with Happy and I’ll think about it,” he finally said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. He had some research to do before he made any decisions—ghosts were _not_ supposed to possess people, and unless the man was lying or misinformed, something had gone very, very wrong. The dead was what he did, what he knew, and while he wasn’t quite so arrogant as to think he knew all there was to know about death and death magic, he knew a damn sight more than just about anyone. This was new.

The man stood, still no indication of discomfort and his smirk entirely too knowing for Tony’s peace of mind, and sauntered out of the office, calling out “Be seeing you, Stark,” over his shoulder.

Tony grimaced at his back. He’d bet his favorite coffee mug the man was a shifter. Quite possibly a cat of some sort. That kind of casual physical arrogance was hard to find in humans. Not to mention that not very many vanilla humans ended up working for the Master of the City.

Not that the man’s identity mattered, just his words. Looked like Tony’s burning curiousity and his survival instinct were going to be battling it out again; those fights never seemed to end well for him.

His phone rang before he had time to devote any more thought to the situation and he grinned when he saw the caller ID. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Rhodey laughed, low and rumbling and an instant mood lifter. “If any of the brass heard you talk to me like that, I’d be demoted to actually cleaning up piss.”

Rhodey, his best friend in the world—one of his only friends in the world—headed up New York’s Preternatural Investigation Squad, affectionately (or not, depending on who you asked) known as PIS for short.

“You are far too pretty to be demoted to janitor. They’d make you a secretary at least,” Tony told him seriously.

Rhodey laughed again and Tony knew he was shaking his head as he responded, “And if Maria hears you talking like that, she’ll insist on more self defense lessons as an excuse to give you a few bruises.”

Tony shuddered, the caution in his voice only half feigned. “She is far more terrifying than your bosses.”

“Very true,” Rhodey said, his tone as smug as Tony was sure his smirk was. “And now that you’ve successfully distracted me for a minute, let’s talk about why I actually called.”

“If we must,” Tony answered, flavoring his voice with noble resignation as he leaned back in his chair. “Do tell, brave officer, why you called this wretch of a consultant.”

He grinned at the sound of a suppressed chuckle, then frowned as Rhodey shifted into serious mode. “I have a body I need you to look at.”

“Of course you do,” Tony said after a moment, the resignation no longer feigned. “You never call me for a drink anymore, sugar puff. It’s all doom and gloom and dead bodies in the park.”

“How did you know it was in the park?” Rhodey asked, a faint edge of suspicion to his words.

Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s New York City, there’s at least a 25% chance of any dead body being found in Central Park, higher for the kind of cases we get called in on.” He grimaced at the muted TV that was always on in the corner of his office. “Besides, you’re on the news.”

“Fucking reporters,” Rhodey grumbled, suspicion faded into irritation. “That new bill Senator Stern is trying to get passed has them all over our asses.”

Tony’s grimace darkened into a scowl. Senator Stern, and his chief of staff, were guaranteed to make any day of his worse. Throw in a dead body, and a mysterious job offer, and it was shaping up to be a shit show of a Monday.

“I’ll be there as soon as traffic allows, faster if you’ll preemptively waive my speeding tickets.”

“Nice try,” Rhodey drawled, then hung up without saying goodbye. Tony made a face at his cell phone and then slipped it into his pocket before standing up and grabbing his keys. He shut the office door behind him on the way out, and poked his head into Coulson’s office without knocking. 

“Cops called, I’m heading out on a consult. Don’t wait up!”

Coulson’s expression never flickered as he looked up from his computer. “Call Happy if you’re going to miss any of your appointments tonight.”

“Yes, sir!” Tony replied, flicking his fingers in a lazy salute and hiding a victorious grin at the faint hint of tightening around Coulson’s eyes. 

“Get out of my office,” Coulson said in that bland little voice of his that never failed to promise pain. 

Tony let his grin slip out and then sauntered away, waving at Happy as he passed the desk and wondering if Rhodey would shoot him if he stopped for coffee on the way to the crime scene. Caffeine always helped him distance himself from the bodies and more espresso might just make the day bearable.

Once he arrived at the park, it was clear that no amount of caffeine would have helped.

It was a sunny day, despite still being winter, and the air was crisp but not frigid. Cops swarmed over the grass, and reporters milled behind the yellow tape border, along with the usual civilians who couldn’t resist gawking at a crime scene.

Rhodey was standing by the corpse, the CSI’s lurking nearby, and he waved Tony over, his face grim. Tony wanted nothing more than to not have to walk over to the body sprawled awkwardly on the grass, one leg flung beneath a park bench. Damn him for offering his best friend any assistance he could when Rhodey was first assigned to the detail, and damn him even more for actually proving useful.

Usefulness, in his experience, was more likely to result in punishment than reward.

He walked over anyway, and, after a slow and steady breath, looked down. It was as awful as he’d thought it would be. The body was male, and not a child. That was about all he could say, given the condition of it. The eyes were white and staring, the skin grey as ash and tightly wrinkled. The hair was short; it might have been brown, once. It, along with the rest of the body, looked like the life had been wrenched from it, leaving nothing behind but withered tissue.

Tony stared at the body, at the gaping emptiness of it, and felt sick. He’d seen bloodier corpses. He’d seen corpses in more pieces than he’d wanted to know a body could be torn into. But the shriveled husk on the ground in front of him was somehow worse, despite the lack of gore.

“There’s no soul,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

Rhodey frowned. “I thought it was pretty rare for you to see those.”

Tony shook his head. “It is, but, it’s always _there_. It’s why I can’t raise anyone for at least three days.” He waved a hand at the body. “It hasn’t been three days and the soul’s just, gone.” He crouched down, cursing himself inwardly even as he brought himself closer to the body. “It’s like it was sucked out of him.” He grimaced. “Along with everything else.”

Rhodey bent down next to him, catching his gaze. “Do you know anything that can suck out a soul?”

Tony shook his head again, then shrugged. “Maybe a demon? I’m not too familiar with those. But,” he frowned, reaching out with his power and shuddering at the void he encountered. “It doesn’t feel evil. Just...empty. Hollow.”

The other man sighed, rising to his feet and beckoning the CSIs back over. “Well at least it’s something. Not sure what we can do about it, but it’s more than we knew before.”

Not looking away from the body, Tony rose as well. “I’ll do some research, ask around.” The Master of the City wanted to hire him to do an exorcism, and there was someone or something going around sucking out souls. It was possible the two cases weren’t connected, but not probable. Either way, the Master of the City might know something that could be helpful.

Looked like necessity had joined curiosity's side of the battle. 

There wasn’t a whole lot he wouldn’t do to avoid ever seeing a body like this again, even if it meant walking into the lair of the most powerful vampire in the city.

Stupid smug shifters. Tony hated proving people right.

~

Steve saw Sam slip into the studio and gave him a slight nod, flicking his eyes in the direction of his office. It was rare for any of his pack to visit him at work, and whatever was so important as to warrant a change in that was best kept away from the all too nosy teenagers in his current class. Sam disappeared through the other door and Steve turned his attention back to the young girl whose painting he was standing beside. “Looks good, Bianca, excellent use of color this time. Keep it up and you’ll steal my next show.”

She grinned at him, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m gonna steal all the shows, Mr. Rogers, just you wait.”

Steve laughed and returned the grin. “I expect invitations to all of them.”

She favored him with a wink. “Only if you promise not to eat all the fancy hors d’oeuvres; I saw you demolish that whole pizza last Saturday at the community center.”

Steve ducked his head as if embarrassed. He was glad that she was comfortable enough with what he was to tease him, even if he could have probably put a pizza away in his army days—before he had a wolf inside of him. “Get back to painting, missy, or you won’t have anything to display at all those shows.”

She chuckled and turned back to her canvas and he stepped away, moving through the rest of the room and checking on the other students before walking through the door that led to his office.

When he saw the expression on his Allectus’ face, his lingering grin faded as he closed the door behind him. “Tell me.”

“Peter confirmed it, Ian’s missing. He wasn’t in class, his roommates haven’t seen him, and he hasn’t answered his phone or returned a text in 48 hours,” Sam’s voice was grim and Steve rubbed a hand over his face as the words settled into his bones, making his beast rumble angrily.

The city had been different lately, off. Whispers and rumors and a sense of restless fear in the shifter, and other, preternatural communities. When Ian had failed to show up to the pack meeting the night before, Steve had known there was something wrong, even as he kept everyone else from panicking.

Ian was young, but he wasn’t stupid and he didn’t pull some of the dangerous and reckless stunts other young pack members did when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. A shifter going missing was never a good thing, and it was almost never something simple or easy. It was hard to take down a wolf, one of _his_ wolves, unless you were something bigger or nastier.

Or a well trained human—or just a lucky bigot—with the right weapon.

He bit back a growl and knew his eyes were a little too blue for human when he looked back up at Sam.

“You and Sharon pick teams, see if you can find a scent at his apartment, or the university.” Ian worked there along with being a student, which helped narrow down the list of places to check.

“And you?” Sam asked, a faint hint of teasing in his tone despite the seriousness of the situation.

“I’ll go see the Master,” Steve replied, ignoring the grin lurking at the edges of Sam’s mouth, and the heat already prickling beneath his skin. He had a missing wolf to worry about, and a city full of powerful people on the edge, so the ongoing attempts of a certain Master Vampire to seduce him were just going to have to wait.

No matter how much he’d found himself enjoying them.

Sam turned away just slow enough to fail to hide his grin, and Steve bounced an eraser off the back of his head before his Allectus could duck through the door. Sam casually flipped him off without turning around, phone already out and to his ear, presumably to call Sharon.

Steve sighed and glanced needlessly at the clock, confirming what his senses, finely tuned so soon after the full moon, already knew. Three more hours until sunset. He was quite confident that Pepper would be awake before then, if she wasn’t already, and equally confident that she wouldn’t reveal such a thing for something as simple as a missing werewolf.

All of which meant that he had time to wrap up his class, and grab a bite to eat, before heading to Roosevelt Island and dealing with the endless debate of which was worse: a werewolf stuck on an aerial tram, or a werewolf trapped in an underground subway.

There were many days when he wondered why New York had such a large and varied shifter population, given the dangers that dense populations and aggressive personalities posed to maintaining control. Somehow though, maybe thanks to the sheer indifference New Yorkers showed toward the strange and unusual, the largest city in the country had also become the preternatural capital of the country.

Of the largest, and therefore the most powerful preternatural groups, New York's territories were split up by borough: Brooklyn for his wolves, the Bronx for the Lions, Queens for the Rats, and Manhattan for the vampires, who ruled over all of the city in technicality if not fact. There was a shocking dearth of actual preternatural life in Staten Island, although it had a higher per capita rash of preternatural stores, 'psychics', and 'witches', than the rest of the city put together.

The smaller shifter clans, various groups of witches, and the occasional psychic and preternatural beings that were less common lived wherever it was safe or they had friends.

Something fell with a thud and the studio filled with hushed whispers far too loud to actually be inaudible in his office. Steve grinned, happy to have his worsening mood dispelled by the antics of his favorite class of the week. 

He cleared his throat, loud enough to carry through the door even to weak human ears, and then stepped into the doorway with a stern frown. The hushed whispers turned into a mix of giggles, murmurs, and definitely not hushed enough curses. Bianca was the only one who made eye contact.

“Tommy decided his art was lacking a certain physicality. I’m not sure bodychecking his easel was the best choice, but who are we to judge his artistic sensibilities?”

There were more giggles, and Tommy glared at her for a moment before flushing and looking up at Steve. “Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I just got a little too into the zone.”

Steve maintained the frown for a moment longer before letting his smile slip as he walked over and lifted Tommy’s easel back up. “Passion is a good thing in art, Tommy, just don’t start body-checking your fellow artists, okay?”

“I’ll save it for the field,” Tommy promised, adjusting his canvas, and Steve clapped him gently on the shoulder before moving on to make sure everyone got back on task. He taught several classes during the week, but this was his favorite, made up of kids from his and Bucky’s old high school. The school could no longer afford an art program of its own, so he had offered free lessons to any interested students. His status as ‘that werewolf painter’ kept some kids away, but for the most part parents in their old neighborhood were too glad of the opportunity to raise a stink.

Forty-five minutes later class was over and he called Sharon for an update.

“The children are obnoxiously eager,” she told him, voice dry enough to strip the water from the brushes he was rinsing in the sink. Steve chuckled, picturing the disgusted crinkle of her nose as she watched the puppies. His second in command was the granddaughter of the Vindex who had moved their pack to New York, Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. She was also Bucky’s cousin, although Steve hadn’t known that before he became a wolf.

“Has their eagerness found anything?”

He could almost hear her frown in her clipped response. “No.” There was a pause and her voice was different when she spoke again, lower and worried. “I found something though. There’s an emptiness, like a scent that not’s a scent. I don’t know what it is, but it’s here at the library where he was last seen and it’s _wrong_.”

Steve’s frown deepened, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. Sharon was the most competent person he knew; frankly, if she’d had any desire for the responsibilities of Vindex, she would have been leader of the pack and he would have been her second. If she said there was a scent that wasn’t a scent, he believed her. And he couldn’t imagine anything that could cause that, which only made things worse.

“Can you track it? Or identify it if you find it again?”

“No, and yes. Sam found nothing at the apartment. I’ll check in with my contacts, and it’s date night tonight so I can ask Carol if anything’s going on that might be related.”

Steve frowned for a different reason. “Just--”

“Be careful, I know,” Sharon cut him off, her voice amused. “Carol and I are very good at negotiating the difficulties of a relationship between a police captain and a werewolf. I think you need that advice more, as I highly doubt that you are nearly as skilled at negotiating relationship boundaries with the Master of the City.”

He coughed and flushed, glad Sharon wasn’t actually present to tease him about being the only werewolf who blushed. “Yes, well, keep me updated, and I’ll see you and Sam tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

She laughed, warm and rich, and then hung up on him without saying goodbye.

Steve sighed and stared down at the sink full of colored water. She was right and he was doomed. Pepper had centuries of experience at getting people to cross boundaries and his ability, and will, to resist a closer relationship with her was fading with every meeting.

Which changed absolutely nothing, because he needed to inform her of what was going on and seek her aid, and, frankly, he also wanted to see her. And he was tired of ignoring things he wanted.

He set the brushes on the drying rack and let the water drain out of the sink, then wiped his hands off on the towel. It was time for food, and then the fun of surviving traffic in New York without eating anyone.

He grabbed his jacket, unnecessary given his natural body temperature, but good for appearances and armor against unwanted touch. He turned off all the lights, set the alarm, and locked the door, then headed for his favorite hot dog stand. Mary had been a friend of his mother’s, her accent as thick as if she’d been born in Ireland rather than being a second generation immigrant like his parents. She made amazing relish, had the best hot dogs in Brooklyn, and always upgraded him to polish dogs for free.

He ate two there on the sidewalk, enduring her stern and somewhat caustic attempts at mothering, and took another two to go. 

The aerial tram won out over the subway—better views and a better smell. Plus he was pretty sure he’d survive the fall if it became necessary to quickly vacate the vehicle. 

Now if only he could guarantee that he could survive what was to come after the tram ride.

~

Clint was sprawled on the floor at Natasha’s feet, one of her hands tangled in his hair, when Pepper stepped into her office. She raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned cheekily.

“Stark’s on the hook. He’ll wriggle around for a bit, but he’ll contact us.”

She nodded, not questioning his confidence, and moved to her desk, settling into the plush leather chair with a silent hum of pleasure. “Good. In the meantime, we have plenty of other business to deal with.” She glanced down at her tablet, an unnecessary human gesture of reminder, one of many she cultivated for her public image.

“The Blood Rose is opening tomorrow night, and my new gallery should be completed by April—ahead of schedule. I have an interview before the opening, ostensibly about Blood Rose, but actually about Senator Stern’s new bill.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed in her direction, green and biting. “I still want to arrange an accident for Mr. Stern. Something suitably embarrassing. And fatal.”

Pepper chuckled, undeniably tempted by the image of what she knew her Temoin was capable of, then shook her head. “He is a thorn in our side, but he is a visible and fairly predictable one. There are others who would be far more dangerous if they stepped up to take his place as our enemy.” Not to mention that she was curious as to what he would do if given enough rope to hang himself. Or for his far more unpleasant chief of staff to do it for him.

If Mr. Stark called before the interview, she might even have some juicy tidbits to leak. There were many reasons for her interest in Anthony Stark, and while his power was first and foremost, his past and connections were nothing to overlook.

“How are preparations going for Xavier’s visit next month?” Pepper asked, leaning back in her chair and raising an eyebrow at her second. Pepper was very fond of Xavier and his prickly animal servant, and especially fond of Raven. Natasha, on the other hand, was less fond of the triumvirate, particularly Erik and his tendency to view everyone and everything as a threat to his mates. 

Given that Natasha had a similar attitude when it came to her, Pepper found her distaste amusing and enjoyed forcing them to interact.

“Well,” Natasha responded, her voice as dry as dust. “The rooms are prepared to Erik’s very specific requirements, reservations have been made at places of interest, and those who need to know have been informed of the details. All that remains is for you to confirm with the Vindex which wolves will be available for feeding.”

Pepper smiled, always happy for an excuse to demand the presence of the delectable Steve Rogers. She vastly preferred the role of seductress to that of seductee, and Steve was the most enjoyable challenge she’d had in centuries. Once he gave in, she was quite sure he would also be the most enjoyable lover she’d had in centuries, enough so that she might not give him up.

A rhythmic knock on the door interrupted her internal debate between dismissing Natasha and Clint so she could call Steve, or waiting until she’d heard the rest of her daily report. “Come in, Klara.”

A young girl skipped into the room, hands wrapped in the skirt of her rose-patterned dress and her long black hair braided into a circlet around her head. She curtsied in front of Pepper’s desk and Pepper’s smile warmed. “What is it, Klara; is Darcy torturing you with makeup again?”

The petite vampire frowned, her childish features wrinkled with distaste. “I am not a living doll.”

“I will remind her of that fact,” Pepper promised. It was difficult even for their kind to remember that those who looked like children were not children, however many childish mannerisms they might choose to maintain. For the mortals, it was even more of a struggle to separate appearance from actuality. Although, to be fair to her pomme de sang, Darcy tended to treat anyone who would hold still long enough as a doll for her to decorate, and vampires were undeniable masters of holding still.

“But that is not why I am here. The Vindex is here to see you.”

Both of Pepper’s eyebrows rose and her smile curled into one more resembling the cheshire cat than her usual serene superiority. “Well, how convenient. Do send him in, Klara, thank you.”

Natasha smirked at her as Klara vanished through the door and Pepper waved an elegant hand in her and Clint’s direction. “We will finish later, make sure that I am not disturbed.”

“Of course, my liege,” Natasha responded, rising to her feet with a curtsy as elegant as could be expected from a member of the Romanov family, even while clad in skin tight black leather pants. “We will leave you to your assignation with the werewolf prince.”

Pepper was tempted to indulge in a childish gesture of her own, but resisted the urge, instead composing herself in her chair and folding her hands on the desk in front of her. Steve had come to expect her advances—and enjoy them, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it—which called for a new tactic.

There was another knock on the door and after she called for him to enter, Steve stepped in. He was tall, golden, and radiating power, and she took a moment to bask before speaking. “Well hello, Mr. Rogers, what brings you to my door today?”

His answering smile was more than a touch amused, and Pepper carefully kept her own amusement from showing on her face. Many, many people underestimated Steve Rogers and his intelligence and he liked it that way, which made it even more fun to tease every bit of it out of him. 

The amusement faded from his face as he spoke, and he seemed both taller and broader as he fully assumed his persona as alpha, increasing the aura of power in the room. “One of my wolves is missing. There are no witnesses, but a strange scent was detected at his place of employment. I wanted to inform you of the matter, and seek your aid in determining if outside forces are at play, or if a homegrown enemy is to blame.”

“And to think I am the one not born in the past century,” she murmured, then took a needless breath and nodded. “We will of course assist you in any way we can. Before you leave, give Natasha the details of your wolf and what you know of his disappearance and everyone will be put on alert.”

His shoulders relaxed from their straight, firm line, and he gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Pepper.”

She smiled back, because she wanted to rather than out of calculation, and gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk. It was sinfully comfortable, designed to make someone never want to leave it, so that the very act of sitting down was an acceptance of Pepper’s timeline.

Steve was well aware of her manipulations, this many years into their alliance, and his smile remained as he sank into the seat. “You are unbearably lovely,” he told her, and Pepper momentarily cursed the fact that even her powers would not enable her to fake a blush.

“And you are unbearably kind,” she retorted, earning a chuckle as he slumped deeper into the chair. “Now, before this descends into endless flattery, which we _will_ return to later, I need to discuss the details of Master Xavier’s visit with you.”

“Of course,” he said with a slight nod. “I am at your service.”

Pepper’s smile took on a wicked edge as she leaned forward. “Be careful with your words, Mr. Rogers; you never know what I might ask.”

Steve’s smile didn’t falter. “And you never know what I might say yes to.” 

If it wouldn’t have ruined her image, Pepper’s answering smirk might have been described as shark-like. As it was, she re-folded her hands and settled back into professionalism. “We will need several wolves to volunteer to feed Xavier and his entourage while they are here. It would also be lovely if you could grace us with your presence when he arrives, and attend events over the course of the week as you are able.”

“I’m sure there will be competition for volunteers,” Steve said wryly. “But I’ll send over the best behaved.” There was more than a hint of wickedness in his expression as he continued. “And I will be happy to clear my schedule in order to be present as your ally, or your companion, whichever is preferred.”

“Why, Steve,” Pepper exclaimed, with an entirely false flutter of her eyelashes. “Surely you haven’t decided to surrender your virtue to me now, after all these years.”

Steve laughed, low and rumbling. “My virtue was sacrificed many years ago, so it cannot be surrendered.” He met her gaze, unafraid of compulsion, and smiled with sweet slowness. “I may, however, have decided that playing along is more enjoyable than resisting.”

“Would this new attitude extend, perhaps, to being my date for the opening of The Blood Rose tomorrow evening?” she asked, her tone arch. Despite Steve’s grim and worrisome news, the night was showing so much more promise than she’d expected.

“I believe I could be persuaded, unless the situation changes,” he responded, still smiling but voice serious enough to shift the tone of their conversation.

“Excellent. Formal attire will be required, and Natasha can give you the details when you discuss the other matter with her,” Pepper stated with equal seriousness, repressing all but the barest hint of smug purr from her voice.

Steve rose to his feet and gave her a shallow bow. “Then I will see you tomorrow evening. I hope the rest of your night is as enjoyable and productive as it has been so far.”

Pepper laughed, smiling up at him with all the charm six hundred years had given her. “Productive yes, but I dare say it won’t be nearly as enjoyable.”

Steve’s eyes twinkled, but he didn’t respond, instead leaving the room without another word.

After his footsteps had gone far enough that she could no longer hear him, Pepper allowed herself several more minutes to bask in her own smugness before returning to business. It had proved to be an excellent Monday so far, and she was looking forward to seeing how the rest of the week would shape up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to make no promises on how often this fic will be updated, but I do have approximately a third of the next chapter done and Anita Blake remains one of my favorite verses to play in.
> 
> Also, I'm having a LOT of fun bringing in other Marvel individuals, and am amused that it took me long enough to post this that a Runaways show has actually been filmed and begun airing. Anyways, have fun playing where's waldo with marvel cameos :D

_Chapter Two - La Belle Dame Sans Merci_

Tony stared down at the piece of paper in his hands with a grimace on his face. He’d known what he was, what he could do, for over twenty years. In that time he’d raised countless zombies, studied the preternatural academically and as a rather personal side hobby, and consulted with the police on dozens of cases.

What he hadn’t done was try to become a part of the preternatural community.

He knew other animators, a psychic or two, and who to call if he needed a witch’s opinion, but shifters and vampires and the other, less ‘human’ members of his world, he’d stayed away from. One foot in both worlds and not really a part of either. Mostly because he avoided being a part of the world at all. He only left his house for work, or if Rhodey and Maria dragged him out for forced human companionship.

Other than that he was a recluse, most definitely by choice.

Calling the number would change that. Irrevocably. He didn’t need a psychic to tell him that.

He dialed anyway, better than most at accepting inevitable change, and managed to keep the grimace from his voice when a perky voice answered, “Thank you for calling Granuaile, this is Darcy, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Darcy, this is Tony Stark. I need to make an appointment to talk to your boss.”

There was a giddy sound that might have been a squeal before it was quickly cut off. “Sorry about that, I’m kind of an animating dork; the whole zombie raising thing is ridiculously awesome and fucked up.” There was a pause as she cleared her throat before continuing, words spilling out rapidly. “Don’t tell Pepper I said any of the preceding sentences. Okay, anyways, she’s been expecting your call and has an hour cleared at six tomorrow tonight if you are available.”

Tony laughed, unexpectedly charmed out of his foul mood. “I had no idea there were animating groupies. You’re my new favorite person. And, since I’m choosing to ignore my irritation with other people’s expectations at the moment, yes, I am available at six tomorrow.”

“Does being your favorite person come with autograph privileges?” the girl asked quickly, the faint clack of a keyboard being abused audible in the background. “Cause I have six back issues of The Animator here that would definitely benefit from your John Hancock.”

Tony snorted. “The editors must be thrilled that there are more than a few hundred animators, and the occasional hate group, subscribing to that rag.”

“Are you kidding? It beats out Marie Claire any day. Your articles are always particularly sassy. I have a little wall of photocopies of my favorite quotes.”

“Well, that little bit of flattery has earned you six copies of my mostly illegible scrawl,” he promised. “Is there anything I need to know before this meeting? A secret handshake? A list of supplies for the mandatory ritual sacrifice? A particular knock so the guards know not to kill me before I get in?”

“Oh no, a knock won’t save you. The proper dance, however, might spare your pretty head,” Darcy assured him. “Just bring your wits and may I recommend the tram over the subway; the view is lovely and your resulting odor is less likely to offend my delicate senses.”

“Duly noted. I will be there at six, in my dancing shoes.”

“See you then, Mr. Stark,” Darcy replied with cheery efficiency. 

Tony hung up, smile fading. Excellent conversation aside, it wasn’t his new best friend Darcy he was going to be seeing in less than twenty-four hours and he was much less confident in his ability to charm, and be charmed by, the Master of the City. Unless said charm involved being rolled right out of his mind until he was at her beck and call.

He hadn’t met a vampire yet who could roll him, but given that he avoided vampires on principle, he didn’t think that counted for much.

Rhodey owed him big.

With cheerful thoughts of the next night’s plans to keep him company, it was time for his usual evening activities—raising the other kind of dead.

New York had a space problem. This wasn't news to anyone who lived there, but few who weren't either animators or funeral home owners were aware that it wasn't the living who were suffering the worst of the space crunch. New York was running out of places to put its dead. Which resulted in an increase in cremations, and some job insecurity stress for those who needed bodies to raise.

His first two appointments of the night were conveniently in the same cemetery, one that no longer had room for new dead. The first involved your standard will reading, if a little more interesting due to the age of the will. The second was for a historian writing a book, one of the many clients Coulson had begun to recruit in an attempt to diversify their business. That particular client had paid for triple time, which meant a whole lot of sitting around and thinking. Not exactly Tony’s favorite activity.

The will reading went fairly quickly once the dead man understood the problem and the language barrier had been dealt with, and the historian had shown up early, far too eager to talk to a zombie in Tony’s decidedly expert opinion.

Once she and her somewhat willing subject were settled in for their nice, long, expensive chat, Tony leaned against the side of the closest mausoleum and pulled his obnoxiously hot pink 3DS out of his coat pocket. He slipped his headphones into his ears, not remotely interested in the history of one random dead dude’s family, and waited for his game to load. It was time for Batman and co to confront Brainiac on his spaceship.

Tony had just finished rebuilding the Eiffel Tower to look like Batman when the historian waved him over, her face glowing with excitement. “Thank you so much!” she gushed, bobbing in an almost bow to him and the zombie. “This has been so helpful for my book.”

The zombie didn’t look inclined to further speech so Tony favored her with his best professional smile. “You’re welcome, Ms. Casas. If you’re done, I’m going to go ahead and lay Mr. Blanchard back to rest.” She nodded again, still grinning, and then started packing her notebooks, recorders, and various other paraphernalia back into her bag.

Tony turned to the zombie. “Are you ready, Mr. Blanchard?” The dead man looked back at him, brown eyes clouded with decay, and nodded. Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of salt, then threw it at the zombie’s chest, the granules catching in the faded suit the man had been buried in. “With salt I bind you to your grave.” He reached up with the knife that had been tucked into his belt and wiped the now congealed blood from the sacrifice across the man’s lips. “With blood and steel I bind you to your grave, Andrew Blanchard. Be at peace and walk no more.”

The zombie laid on the ground, Tony’s magic no longer animating him, and the dirt flowed back over him until the grave looked undisturbed. Tony wiped the knife off on a cloth he kept in his other pocket before tucking it back into his belt. Ms. Casas was still watching him, eyes bright with fascination, so he raised an eyebrow at her. She flushed. “I’m sorry, I’ll go now. Good night!”

He waved, biting back a sarcastic comment, and waited until she was out of the cemetery gates before gathering up the rest of his supplies and sauntering toward where he’d parked. Only one more appointment, thanks to Ms. Triple Time, and then he could go home for a nice liquid dinner before sunrise and his bedtime.

Two hours later, after another cemetery and a decidedly unpleasant scene between a widower and his dead wife, and he was home with a drink in his hand as he stared at his phone and once again willed it disappear.

It failed to comply, so he sighed, picked it up, and dialed a number he was almost surprised he still remembered. To his actual surprise, someone answered.

“Why on earth are you awake this early?” he asked, blunter even than usual thanks to exhaustion and stress.

“Because some of us start our days with the sun instead of ending them, Tony,” a woman’s voice replied, her tone entirely too smug and perky for his taste. “Now what have I done to deserve a call from the reclusive, infamous, Mr. Five Zombies a Night or Your Money Back Stark?”

“Oh hush, Ms. Queen Witch of New York Herself Van Dyne. It’s not like I’m on the top of your speed dial either,” he sniped, mouth curving down into a grumpy pout.

“One point for you,” Janet said, warm amusement in her voice as her words brought back their college days and a friendship that had once been quite close. “Now answer my question, Tony. What has you breaking radio silence?”

He grimaced, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to go back to that silence after this. Which might not be a bad thing; he liked Janet, even if she had always been entirely too fond of rubbing his nose in it when he was wrong or needed help. “I need your help,” he admitted, and then couldn’t help his smile when there was no answer other than silence. “You can gloat, it’s fine. My fragile ego can handle it.”

Janet laughed. “No need for gloating, can’t scare you off until we’ve at least scheduled a lunch date. What do you need my help with? Is James still having you help with his police work?”

“Yes, and I need your help with a case. And something else,” Tony paused and took another fortifying drink of his whiskey, then continued. “Do you know anything that can suck out a soul? There’s a body, all shriveled up and empty, and I have no idea what could have done that. I just know I don’t ever want to meet it.”

The silence was heavier this time, finally broken by a sigh. “No you don’t. And neither do I. Off the top of my head, we’re looking at something fae, or something even older. And it won’t be easy to find. The fae aren’t allowed in this country, so if it’s one of them it won’t be talking about it. And if it’s something else, something even further from human, well, then we’re probably all fucked.”

Tony chuckled darkly. “You always did have a way with words. Any good news?”

“There’s magic I can do, to help you find the fae, if that’s what it is. And I can tell you how to protect against their power. Schedule that lunch date with me, and I’ll give you everything I can.” 

Tony glanced at the clock. “How about an early dinner today. I’m meeting the Master of the City tonight at six, and I hoped I could ask for the witchy low down on her too.”

There was a brief pause and then Janet started laughing again. “Oh my goddess, Tony, you are in so over your head. Yes, I will meet you. If only to see you one last time before she eats you alive.”

“It’s nice to know you have so much confidence in my abilities,” Tony said dryly, hoping his voice didn’t reflect the sudden spike in his nerves.

“Oh honey. You are incredibly competent, more even than you and your decidedly not fragile ego give yourself credit for, but Pepper is in a class of her own and your hermit like approach to the preternatural world has done you no favors.” Janet laughed again. “Luckily for you, I’m far less worried about her killing you than whatever’s going around sucking out souls. Meet me at Le Bernadin at 4. You are going to buy me an expensive dinner, and I’m going to do my best to educate you on the world you’ve been ignoring.”

She hung up before he could argue, and Tony stared at the phone for a long moment before draining his glass and standing up to get a refill. He needed a lot more liquor before he was going to be able to tune out her words enough to sleep.

~

Steve took another drink of coffee, enjoying the electric warmth of the caffeine. Sharon was next to him, devouring a short stack, bacon, sausage, and three egg breakfast. Nico and Alex, the Regina and Rex of the New York lion pride, were sitting in the middle curve of the booth. Alex was equally engrossed in his food, while Nico was chatting with Xavin, the Oba of the Hyena clan that shared their territory in the Bronx. They were still waiting for Luke and Jessica, the King and Queen of the rats, and Sue, who ran the small pard of leopards who lived in Manhattan and also represented the other smaller groups of shifters whenever they had one of these unofficial council meetings.

Sam had been happy to continue working on finding Ian rather than coming along, just in case Sue brought her brother and second in command. Johnny’s favorite pastime was flirting, and Sam was his favorite target. Steve honestly wasn’t sure if the flirting was serious, or how Johnny would react if Sam suddenly reciprocated, but he and Sue both enjoyed watching his Allectus squirm when her handsome and easily excitable brother turned the charm on.

Sue arrived first, ordering a black coffee and a breakfast burrito before turning to smile at Steve, her dark eyes twinkling. “No Sam today?”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “Although it seems he needn’t have bothered, unless your brother is arriving later.”

Sue grinned back. “Nah, he’s in the middle of a shift. Won’t be off work for another twelve hours. Your Allectus is safe, for now.” She cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “You know, if Sam ever told Johnny to back off, he would.”

“I know,” Steve said with an acknowledging nod. “But I have chosen not to press him on why he does not.”

Sue smiled and dipped her head, then looked back up at the waitress as she dropped off another mug and topped up everyone’s coffees. Before any conversation could resume, Jessica and Luke arrived and the cheerful mood of the table disappeared. Luke looked furious and Jessica’s face was tight with carefully repressed anger and worry. 

Steve waved the waitress off as they sat down, and everyone waited. “Willis is dead. The police found his body in the park,” Luke ground out, his voice low enough that no one without their hearing and proximity could hear him. “They don’t know who or what did it, but his body.” Luke stopped, apparently too angry to continue, and Jessica finished for him.

“It was shriveled, like a husk, and it smelled wrong. Empty,” her voice was cold, and it shook on the last word with the barest hint of a hiss.

Steve felt his own beast rise as Sharon stiffened next to him. “I smelled something similar, while investigating one of our wolves who has gone missing,” Sharon said, her eyes shining gold. “It appears that whatever it is, it has an appetite for lycanthropes.”

Steve could picture Ian’s face, entirely too young and usually prone to smiles, and hoped he wasn’t called in to make a similar identification. He didn’t want to picture that face gone, turned into an empty shell. He wanted Ian back with his pack. 

“We need to go on lockdown,” he said firmly, meeting everyone’s gaze in turn. “No one goes out alone, everyone has regular check-ins. And no shifting alone. We don’t know how this person is finding victims, better safe than sorry.”

They all nodded, Luke’s hands curled into fists on the table and the skin around Jessica’s eyes lined with pain and rage. 

“Let us know when the service is,” Nico said, her voice gentle even though her eyes were as cold and hard as everyone else’s at the table. “

Jessica flashed her a brief, sharp smile, and Luke nodded. “We will.”

The meeting didn’t last long after that, even shifter appetites could be spoiled by bad news, and none of their other concerns were serious enough to be brought up.

“Everyone has a buddy, and we’ve established regular call-ins,” Sharon told him before they parted, then smirked. “And Sam’s taken your on-call night so your little date won’t be interrupted.”

Steve ignored the taunting tone of her voice. There would be worse, from her and the rest of the pack, as things between him and Pepper progressed, and showing weakness now would not end well for him. “Tell Sam I appreciate it. I’m going to check in with Darcy, and her doctor friend.”

Sharon nodded, then headed for her car as Steve swung his leg over his motorcycle. He drove it rarely since becoming a shifter, too many memories and too many risks in New York’s hostile traffic, but he didn’t have the ability to sit still on the subway today. 

Darcy’s day job involved working as an intern for her best friend, a human professor at her university who specialized in scientific research of the preternatural. They were a rare breed, and most willing to participate in unethical practices like the so-called shifter halfway houses. But Jane was alright, and Darcy provided her an invaluable link to the preternatural community. Steve was hoping that Jane might know something about whatever was preying on shifters, or at least know where to start looking. And Darcy deserved to hear it from him that Ian, whom Darcy had brought into the pack, was missing and quite possibly worse.

“Hey, Bossman!” Darcy said with a cheerful grin when he walked into Dr. Foster’s lab. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not your boss,” Steve told her, amused, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah, but if I call you my alpha, all the furries on campus will spontaneously combust and I don’t need to deal with that nonsense.” She jerked her chin at Jane, who was staring intently into a microscope that had definitely cost more than Steve’s motorcycle. “I’ve already got a twitterpated bosslady to deal with. She’s got a new secret boyfriend,” Darcy said in a stage whisper and Jane looked up from the machine with a glare, her cheeks stained with the faintest brush of pink. 

“It’s not a secret, I’m just not talking about it.”

“That’s called a secret,” Darcy said dryly, then waved dismissively before Jane could argue any further. “You still haven’t answered my question, bossman, what’s up?” Some of the humor had faded from her voice and Steve knew she suspected it was about Ian.

“Ian’s missing. And one of Luke and Jessica’s is dead. We believe the incidents are connected.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t otherwise react. “I assume all the texts I’ve been ignoring are about a pack lockdown.”

Steve nodded, then gave into the instincts of the alpha Darcy had decried and pulled her in for a hug. Humans needed physical comfort, no matter how much they pretended otherwise. Shifters didn’t have that luxury. If they ignored their needs, they weren’t the only ones who suffered. 

Darcy hugged him back just as tight, then pushed him away with a smile to bely the redness of her eyes. “Going to order a pack sleepover next?”

“Only if you plan the games,” he told her with a grin. “Peter’s are always too exotic and Kate’s too vicious.”

“Deal,” she said with a decisive nod.

Steve smiled at her, wishing the rest of his pack would be so easy to care for during this crisis, then turned to her boss. The sooner they could find whoever or whatever was doing this, the better they would all sleep at night.

“We’re trying to figure out what could leave a scent that’s not a scent, an emptiness. And that can suck someone dry; not blood, everything.”

Darcy made a small sound, but it was the wide-eyed look on Jane’s face that had captured all of Steve’s attention, something off about her total surprise. 

“Um, well. Definitely something powerful. Could be a human, but something older seems more likely. If it’s random, it could be one of things most humans hope are extinct. Preternatural predator, intelligent but not sapient. If it’s not random…” she trailed off for a moment, then gave him a tight smile. “Probably fae.”

Steve digested that, not sure which was worse. Lack of sapience might make it easier to find, if not to kill, but also harder to track with no guiding intelligence behind the attacks. On the other hand, someone intentionally hunting shifters for an unknown purpose was far from a comforting thought. “Have you come into contact with any fae during your research?”

There was the barest flicker in her expression, her heart beating rapidly for a brief second before she got it under control and gave him her best manic scientist smile. “You mean am I in contact with someone living in this country illegally, Steve? Of course not, that would lose me my job and probably cost me some prison time.”

Steve returned her smile, letting her think him fooled. He hoped she was trying to protect an innocent scientific source and not a murderer, or Darcy was going to be losing a lot more than one friend.

~

Pepper was already dressed for her evening at the Blood Rose, further maintaining the facade that this interview was about the club’s opening and not the newest proposed regulation from the anti-preternatural faction of congress.

The top of her dress was matte black, plunging in the front with wide sleeves that appeared to be mere moments from sliding down her shoulders. The back was nonexistent, bare skin until the full skirt began, just above the curve of her ass. The skirt was sheer, layers upon layers of black fabric that shimmered in the light with tantalizing flashes of the white skin beneath. 

A large uncut ruby dangled from a golden chain around her neck, the uneven bottom edge of the stone resting just between the top of her breasts. Her hair was down, loose and long, the color magnified by the stone around her neck and the darkness of her dress. She was already taller than the interviewer, but the heels ensured she would be eye to eye with Steve. Black silk, with delicate gold metal work up the heel and spreading down both sides of the shoe, framing her feet. 

“So tell me, Pepper, how exactly do high fashion and a dance club come together?” the reporter asked, his charming smile just a little too wide for Pepper’s taste.

“Who doesn’t love to dress to impress when they go out for a night on the town, Mr. Brock?” Pepper asked, then let out a sparkling laugh that had the reporter smiling involuntarily. “I wanted to bring something new to the nightlife, that embraced one of my passions.” 

“You are known for your impeccable fashion choices, as the most visible Master of the City in the States,” Mr. Brock flattered and Pepper preened in response, her fingers idling resting on the stone on her chest. 

“I’m not the only preternatural with a fondness for personal decor, Mr. Brock, and my position allows me the freedom to help others in the community less visible than myself. On Friday and Saturday nights there will be models showcasing the work of preternatural designers on the large runway that extends through the main room of the club. On the other nights the club is open, the runway will be open to patrons to use however they wish—as a private fashion show or a dance floor.”

“I’m sure it will be a popular attraction,” Mr. Brock murmured. “Another successful business to add to your growing collection. You have a gallery opening up in May, correct?”

“April, actually,” Pepper corrected him, a flash of perfect white teeth on red lips, enjoying the way his eyes widened in expectation and then disappointment at the lack of fang. “We’re ahead of schedule. I look forward to sharing pieces from my private collection, as well as showcasing works owned and created by others in the community. Mr. Rogers’ paintings are a particular favorite of mine, so visceral.”

Mr. Brock shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Pepper’s demure smile sharpened ever so slightly. Mr. Brock had written a fairly scathing review of Steve’s last show, decrying the ‘flash in the pan’ popularity of buying art from a werewolf. She loathed hypocrisy.

“Was construction pushed forward in order to open before the potential passage of Senator Stern’s new financial status bill?” he asked with seeming innocence, the twist of his lips betraying his need to put himself back on an even playing field.

Pepper leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “You mean the bill targeted explicitly at shifters and vampires, with the goal of preventing them from accumulating or holding assets the way ‘human’ citizens are allowed to?” 

He flinched back in his seat, then shook his head with a pained frown. “I wouldn’t characterize Mr. Stern’s efforts-”

Pepper raised a hand, cutting him off. “No. The opening was not pushed forward on account of that bigoted piece of legislation.” She smiled winsomely. “That was just a happy coincidence. Although an unnecessary one, as I have every faith that less prejudiced factions will prevail and the bill will be defeated.”

His answering smile was tight and Pepper relaxed into her chair, utterly at ease. They had never been on an even playing field and he was a fool to think otherwise.

Before he could compose himself to ask another question, Natasha stepped into the room. She flashed a predatory smile at Mr. Brock before turning to Pepper. “Mr. Stark is here.”

Pepper turned her head to hide her grin, then rose to her feet. Time would tell if Mr. Brock was smart enough to pick up on that anvil sized hint, and foolish enough to bring it to Senator Stern for comment. “I apologize, Mr. Brock. We’ll have to end the interview there. I have other business to attend to before I leave for Blood Rose.” She offered him her best smile, charming and enigmatic. “I do hope we’ll see you there. Your name is on the list.”

“I look forward to it,” he promised, his eyes calculating and his smile as false as hers though far less charming.

Pepper turned and swept out of the room, Natasha at her heels. Her evening had already been enormously productive and satisfactory and she still had a meeting with the reclusive Anthony Stark, and her date with the delectable Vindex to look forward to. She did hope Mr. Brock accepted her invitation; his part in her good mood deserved to be rewarded, and there were all sorts of delights at the Blood Rose just waiting to take a bite out of someone like the cynical reporter.

She caught a glimpse of Anthony waiting in her office, the lines of his body tight with discomfort while the scent of his power made her mouth water. With any luck she, too, would have someone delightful to sink her teeth into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I began writing this story before Jessica Jones started airing, much less Runaways, which means I'm not completely sold on their casting choices.
> 
> Originally I pictured Jessica as Kristin Bell because, let's be real, Veronica Mars is teenaged Jessica without the super powers, by Krysten Ritter has totally sold me on her role.
> 
> I'm letting the Runaways casting stand for now, with the exception of Gert, because while Ariela Barer is quite lovely, she is by no means plus sized. So Georgia Pratt is [my Gert](http://www3.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Georgia+Pratt+Lane+Bryant+Launches+PlusIsEqual+GL59TyjKO_2l.jpg)
> 
> And here's my vision of [Sue](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/42/Sara_Ram%C3%ADrez3.jpg) and [Johnny](http://www.sofabanana.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Diego-Boneta.jpg).
> 
> Finally Xavin, when they're [feminine presenting](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/00/b6/e2/00b6e2c367d98116b1701630fae1c085.jpg), and [male presenting](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/thehundred/images/0/01/Wells_Jaha.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/350?cb=20150110235818).


End file.
